Davenport Dunn, a Man of Our Day. Volume 1

CHAPTER XLII. THE GERM OF A BOLD STROKE

If Mr. Davenport Dunn had passed a day of unusual happiness and ease, the night which followed was destined to be one of intense labor and toil. Scarcely had the quiet of repose settled down upon the Hermitage, than the quick tramp of horses, urged to their sharpest trot, was heard approaching, and soon after Mr. Hankes descended from his travelling-carriage at the door.

Dunn had been standing at his open window gazing into the still obscurity of the night, and wondering at what time he might expect him, when he arrived.

“You have made haste, Hankes,” said he, not wasting a word in salutation. “I scarcely looked to see you before daybreak.”

“Yes, sir; the special train behaved well, and the posters did their part as creditably. I had about four hours altogether in Dublin, but they were quite sufficient for everything.”

“For everything?” repeated Dunn.

“Yes; you’ll find nothing has been forgotten. Before leaving Cork, I telegraphed to Meekins of the ‘Post,’ and to Browne of the ‘Banner,’ to meet me on my arrival at Henrietta Street. Strange enough, they both were anxiously waiting for some instructions on the very question at issue. They came armed with piles of provincial papers, all written in the same threatening style. One in particular, the ‘Upper Ossory Beacon,’ had an article headed, ‘Who is our Dionysius?’”

“Never mind that,” broke in Dunn, impatiently. “You explained to them the line to be taken?”

“Fully, sir. I told them that they were to answer the attacks weakly, feebly, deprecating in general terms the use of personalities, and throwing out little appeals for forbearance, and so on. On the question of the Bank, I said, ‘Be somewhat more resolute; hint that certain aspersions might be deemed actionable; that wantonly to assail credit is an offence punishable at law; and then dwell upon the benefits already diffused by these establishments, and implore all who have the interest of Ireland at heart not to suffer a spirit of faction to triumph over their patriotism.’”

“Will they understand the part?” asked Dunn, more impatiently than before.

“Thoroughly; Browne, indeed, has a leader already ‘set up’ – ”

“What do I care for all these?” broke in Dunn, peevishly. “Surely no man knows better than yourself that these fellows are only the feathers that show where the wind blows. As to any influence they wield over public opinion, you might as well tell me that the man who sweats a guinea can sway the Stock Exchange.”

Hankes shook his head dissentingly, but made no reply.

“You have brought the Bank accounts and the balance-sheet?”

“Yes, they are all here.”

“Have you made any rough calculation as to the amount – ” He stopped.

“Fifty thousand ought to cover it easily – I mean with what they have themselves in hand. The first day will be a heavy one, but I don’t suspect the second will, particularly when it is known that we are discounting freely as ever.”

“And now as to the main point?” said Dunn.

“All right, sir. Etheridge’s securities give us seventeen thousand; we have a balance of about eleven on that account of Lord Lackington; I drew out the twelve hundred of Kellett’s at once; and several other small sums, which are all ready.”

“It is a bold stroke!” muttered Dunn, musingly.

“None but an original mind could have hit upon it, sir. I used to think the late Mr. Robins a very great man, sir, – and he was a great man, – but this is a cut above him.”

“Let us say so when it has succeeded, Hankes,” said Dunn, with a half-smile.

As he spoke, he seated himself at the table, and, opening a massive account-book, was soon deep in its details. Hankes took a place beside him, and they both continued to con over the long column of figures together.

“We stand in a safer position than I thought, Hankes,” said Dunn, leaning back in his chair.

“Yes, sir; we have been nursing this Ossory Bank for some time. You remember, some time ago, saying to me, ‘Hankes, put condition on that horse, we ‘ll have to ride him hard before the season is over’?”

“Well, you have done it cleverly, I must say,” resumed Dunn. “This concern is almost solvent.”

“Almost, sir,” echoed Hankes.

“What a shake it will give them all, Hankes,” said Dunn, gleefully, “when it once sets in, as it will and must, powerfully! The Provincial will stand easily enough.”

“To be sure, sir.”

“And the Royal, also; but the ‘Tyrawley’ – ”

“And the ‘Four Counties,’” added Hankes. “Driscoll is ready with four thousand of the notes ‘to open the ball,’ as he says, and when Terry’s name gets abroad it will be worse to them than a placard on the walls.”

“I shall not be sorry for the ‘Four Counties.’ It was Mr. Morris, the chairman, had the insolence to allude to me in the House, and ask if it were true that the Ministry had recommended Mr. Davenport Dunn as a fit object for the favors of the Crown? That question, sir, placed my claim in abeyance ever since. The Minister, pledged solemnly to me, had to rise in his place and say ‘No.’ Of course he added the stereotyped sarcasm, ‘Not that, if such a decision had been come to, need the Cabinet have shrunk from the responsibility through any fears of the honorable gentleman’s indignation.’”

“Well, Mr. Morris will have to pay for his joke now,” said Hankes. “I ‘m told his whole estate is liable to the Bank.”

“Every shilling of it. Driscoll has got me all the details.”

“Lushington will be the great sufferer by the ‘Tyrawley,’” continued Hankes.

“Another of them, Hankes, – another of them,” cried Dunn, rubbing his hands joyfully. “Tom Lushington – the Honorable Tom, as they called him – blackballed me at ‘Brookes’s. They told me his very words: ‘It’s bad enough to be “Dunned,” as we are, out of doors, but let us, at least, be safe from the infliction at our Clubs.’ A sorry jest, but witty enough for those who heard it.”

“I don’t think he has sixpence.”

“No, sir; nor can he remain a Treasury Lord with a fiat of bankruptcy against him. So much, then, for Tom Lushington! I tell you, Hankes,” said he, spiritedly, “next week will have its catalogue of shipwrecks. There’s a storm about to break that none have yet suspected.”

“There will be some heavy sufferers,” said Hankes gravely.

“No doubt, no doubt,” muttered Dunn. “I never heard of a battle without killed and wounded. I tell you, sir, again,” said he, raising his voice, “before the week ends the shore will be strewn with fragments; we alone will ride through the gale unharmed. It is not fully a month since I showed the Chief Secretary here – ay, and his Excellency, also – the insolent but insidious system of attack the Government journals maintain against me, the half-covert insinuations, the impertinent queries, pretended inquiries for mere information’s sake. Of course, I got for answer the usual cant about ‘freedom of the press,’ ‘liberty of public discussion,’ with the accustomed assurance that the Government had not, in reality, any recognized organ; and, to wind up, there was the laughing question, ‘And what do you care, after all, for these fellows?’ But now I will show what I do care, – that I have good and sufficient reason to care, – that the calumnies which assail me are directed against my material interests; that it is not Davenport Dunn is ‘in cause,’ but all the great enterprises associated with his name; that it is not an individual, but the industry of a nation, is at stake; and I will say to them, ‘Protect me, or – ’ You remember the significant legend inscribed on the cannon of the Irish Volunteers, ‘Independence or – ’ Take my word for it, I may not speak as loudly as the nine-pounder, but my fire will be to the full as fatal!”

Never before had Hankes seen his chief carried away by any sense of personal injury; he had even remarked, amongst the traits of his great business capacity, that a calm contempt for mere passing opinion was his characteristic, and he was sorely grieved to find that such equanimity could be disturbed. With his own especial quickness Dunn saw what was passing in his lieutenant’s mind, and he added hastily, —

“Not that, of all men, I need care for such assaults; powerful even to tyranny as the press has become amongst us, there is one thing more powerful still, and that is – Prosperity! Ay, sir, there may be cavil and controversy as to your abilities; some may condemn your speech, or carp at your book, they may cry down your statecraft, or deny your diplomacy; but there is a test that all can appreciate, all comprehend, and that is – Success. Have only that, Hankes, and the world is with you.”

“There’s no denying that,” said Hankes, solemnly.

“It is the gauge of every man,” resumed Dunn, – “from him that presides over a Railway Board to him that sways an Empire. And justly so, too,” added he, rapidly. “A man must be a consummate judge of horseflesh that could pick out the winner of the Oaks in a stable; but the scrubbiest varlet on the field can see who comes in first on the day of the race! Have you ever been in America, Hankes?” asked he, suddenly.

“Yes; all over the States. I think I know Cousin Jonathan as well as I know old John himself.”

“You know a very shrewd fellow, then,” muttered Dunn; “over-shrewd, mayhap.”

“What led you to think of that country now?” asked the other, curiously.

“I scarcely know,” said Dunn, carelessly, as he walked the room in thoughtfulness; then added, “If no recognition were to come of these services of mine, I ‘d just as soon live there as here. I should, at least, be on the level of the best above me. Well,” cried he, in a higher tone, “we have some trumps to play out ere it come to that.”

Once more they turned to the account books and the papers before them, for Hankes had many things to explain and various difficulties to unravel. The vast number of those enterprises in which Dunn engaged had eventually blended and mingled all their interests together. Estates and shipping, and banks, mines, railroads, and dock companies had so often interchanged their securities, each bolstering up the credit of the other in turn, that the whole resembled some immense fortress, where the garrison, too weak for a general defence, was always hastening to some one point or other, – the seat of immediate attack. And thus an Irish draining-fund was one day called upon to liquidate the demands upon a sub-Alpine railroad, while a Mexican tin-mine flew to the rescue of a hosiery scheme in Balbriggan! To have ever a force ready on the point assailed was Dunn’s remarkable talent, and he handled his masses like a great master of war.

Partly out of that indolent insolence which power begets, he had latterly been less mindful of the press, less alive to the strictures of journalism, and attacks were made upon him which, directed as they were against his solvency, threatened at any moment to assume a dangerous shape. Roused at last by the peril, he had determined on playing a bold game for fortune; and this it was which now engaged his thoughts, and whose details the dawning day saw him deeply considering. His now great theory was that a recognized station amongst the nobles of the land was the one only security against disaster. “Once amongst them,” said he, “they will defend me as one of their order.” How to effect this grand object had been the long study of his life. But it was more, – it was also his secret! They who fancied they knew the man, thoroughly understood the habits of his mind, his passions, his prejudices, and his hopes, never as much as suspected what lay at the bottom of them all. He assumed a sort of manner that in a measure disarmed their suspicion; he affected pride in that middle station of life he occupied, and seemed to glory in those glowing eulogies of commercial ability and capacity which it was the good pleasure of leading journalists just then to deliver. On public occasions he made an even ostentatious display of these sentiments, and Davenport Dunn was often quoted as a dangerous man for an hereditary aristocracy to have against them.

Such was he who now pored over complicated details of figures, intricate and tangled schemes of finance; and yet, while his mind embraced them, with other thoughts was he picturing to himself a time when, proud amongst the proudest, he would take his place with the great nobles of the land. It was evident that another had not regarded this ambition as fanciful or extravagant. Lady Augusta – the haughty daughter of one of the haughtiest in the peerage – as much as said, “It was a fair and reasonable object of hope; then none could deny the claims he preferred, nor any affect to undervalue the vast benefits he had conferred on his country.” There was something so truly kind, so touching too, in the generous tone she assumed, that Dunn dwelt upon it again and again. Knowing all the secret instincts of that mysterious brotherhood as she did, Dunn imagined to himself all the advantage her advice and counsels could render him. “She can direct me in many ways, teaching me how to treat these mysterious high-priests as I ought What shall I do to secure her favor? How enlist it in my cause? Could I make her partner in the enterprise?” As the thought flashed across him, his cheek burned as if with a flame, and he rose abruptly from the table and walked to the window, fearful lest his agitation might be observed. “That were success, indeed!” muttered he. “What a strong bail-bond would it be when I called two English peers my brothers-in-law, and an earl for my wife’s father! This would at once lead me to the very step of the ‘Order.’ How many noble families would it interest in my elevation! The Ardens are the best blood of the south, connected widely with the highest in both countries. Is it possible that this could succeed?” He thought of the old Earl and his intense pride of birth, and his heart misgave him; but then, Lady Augusta’s gentle tones and gentler looks came to his mind, and he remembered that though a peer’s daughter, she was penniless, and – we shame to write it – not young. The Lady Augusta Arden marries the millionnaire Mr. Dunn, and the world understands the compact There are many such matches every season.

“What age would you guess me to be, Hankes?” said he, suddenly turning round.

“I should call you – let me see – a matter of forty-five or forty-six, sir.”

“Older, Hankes, – older,” said he, with a smile of half-pleasure.

“You don’t look it, sir, I protest you don’t. Sitting up all night and working over these accounts, one might, perhaps, call you forty-six; but seeing you as you come down to breakfast after your natural rest, you don’t seem forty.”

“This same life is too laborious; a man may follow it for the ten or twelve years of his prime, but it becomes downright slavery after that.”

“But what is an active mind like yours to do, sir?” asked Hankes.

“Take his ease and rest himself.”

“Ease! – rest! All a mistake, sir. Great business men can’t exist in that lethargy called leisure.”

“You are quite wrong, Hankes; if I were the master of some venerable old demesne, like this, for instance, with its timber of centuries’ growth, and its charms of scenery, such as we see around us here, I ‘d ask no better existence than to pass my days in calm retirement, invite a stray friend or two to come and see me, and with books and other resources hold myself aloof from stocks and statecraft, and not so much as ask how are the Funds or who is the Minister.”

“I ‘d be sorry to see you come to that, sir, I declare I should,” said Hankes, earnestly.

“You may live to see it, notwithstanding,” said Dunn, with a placid smile.

“Ah, sir,” said Hankes, “it’s not the man who has just conceived such a grand idea as this “ – and he touched the books before him – “ought to talk about turning hermit.”

“We’ll see, Hankes, – we’ll see,” said Dunn, calmly. “There come the post-horses – I suppose for you.”

“Yes, sir; I ordered them to be here at six. I thought I should have had a couple of hours in bed by that time; but it does n’t signify, I can sleep anywhere.”

“Let me see,” said Dunn, calculating. “This is Tuesday; now, Friday ought to be the day, the news to reach me on Thursday afternoon; you can send a telegraphic message and then send on a clerk. Of course, you will know how to make these communications properly. It is better I should remain here in the interval; it looks like security.”

“Do you mean to come over yourself, sir?”

“Of course I do. You must meet me there on Friday morning. Let Mrs. Hailes have the house in readiness in case I might invite any one.”

“All shall be attended to ir,” said Hankes. “I think I’ll despatch Wilkins to you with the news; he’s an awful fellow to exaggerate evil tidings.”

“Very well,” said Dunn. “Good-night, or, I opine, rather, good-morning.” And he turned away into his bedroom.

CHAPTER XLIII. THE GARDEN

From the moment that Mr. Davenport Dunn announced he would still continue to enjoy the hospitality of the Hermitage, a feeling of intimacy grew up between himself and his host that almost savored of old friendship. Lord Glengariff already saw in the distance wealth and affluence; he had secured a co-operation that never knew failure, – the one man whose energies could always guarantee success.

It was true, Dunn had not directly pledged himself to anything; he had listened and questioned and inquired and reflected, but given nothing like a definite opinion, far less a promise. But, as the old Lord said, “These fellows are always cautious, always reserved; and whenever they do not oppose, it may be assumed that they concur. At all events, we must manage with delicacy; there must be no haste, no importunity; the best advocacy we can offer to our plans is to make his visit here as agreeable as possible.” Such was the wise counsel he gave his daughter as they strolled through the garden after breakfast, talking over the character and the temperament of their guest.

“By George, Gusty!” cried Lord Glengariff, after a moment’s silence, “I cannot yet persuade myself that this is ‘Old Davy,’ as you and the girls used to call him long ago. Of all the miraculous transformations I have ever witnessed, none of them approaches this!”

“It is wonderful, indeed!” said she, slowly.

“It is not that he has acquired or increased his stock of knowledge, – that would not have puzzled me so much, seeing the life of labor he has led, – but I go on asking myself what has become of his former self, of which not a trace nor vestige remains? Where is his shy, hesitating manner, his pedantry, his suspicion, – where the intense eagerness to learn what was going on in the house? You remember how his prying disposition used to worry us?”

“I remember,” said she, in a low voice.

“There is something, now, in his calm, quiet deportment very like dignity. I protest I should – seeing him for the first time – call him a well-bred man.”